Well, I obeyed the label, and I can’t say I’m disappointed: both the bitterness and the funk are restrained and well-balanced against one another. I’m glad I’ve got another one in the cellar, though, because I’ll be interested to see what the Brett does in another year or two. (With any luck, I’ll locate one or two other vintages in the interim, to accompany this one and my one and only 12.26.15 – what was I thinking buying only one of those?) (16/20)

Meh. Not up to Stone’s usual standards, in my opinion. Starts off looking rich and decadent, but the body, medium-full at best, drops off to watery fairly quickly, making this another oatmeal stout supporting my theory that oatmeal makes for a thinnish Imperial Stout. And yes, the label is correct in calling it bitter, but that’s only part of the story: there’s a significant nearly-acidic astringency, especially in the finish, that lingers and builds. On the up side hand, the high ABV is well-integrated to the point that it’s pretty much completely absent. Good, but hardly memorable. (14/20)

A fair bit sweeter than I was expecting, except for which I’d almost consider it a decent Farmhouse/Saison. It has strong similarities to Gueuze as well, except again for the relatively high sweetness. And, to be clear, that sweetness isn’t overwhelming or unbalanced, but it certainly makes this difficult to characterize as anything but an American Wild. The stone fruit, lemon zest, and oak give this a strongly vinous character, and in a blind taste test, I’d bet you could convince someone this was actually an oddball white wine. Quite interesting, and well worth trying if you find it – assuming you have no problem with the frankly ludicrous price tag. (16/20)

So, “koji” is a Japanese term meaning “grain or bean overgrown with a mold culture” (specifically, Monascus purpureus, which produces statins, making this medicinal, right?) and can be used as an ingredient in sake, of which this is a hybrid. In other words, this is a Canadian review of a Norwegian/Chinese collaboration on a Franco-Belgian/Japanese hybrid. Confused yet? Good, me too – though the 14% ABV might have something to do with that. And yes, that totally triggers my standard rant against high ABV Saisons. You can also insert my standard complaint against Council Brewing’s yeast, which smells like nothing so much as standard baker’s yeast. I’m not sure about this – I might be doing it a disservice simply because it’s so very, very strange – but it’s just weird to the point of unapproachability. Maybe if I was a big sake fan, this would be more my style -but I’m not, so it ain’t. (11/20)

My second bourbon barrel-aged stout of the evening, and perhaps I did them in the wrong order, but this one suffers slightly by comparison. Decent enough on the front end, with roasty malts, chocolate, and bourbon, but finishes just a little thin in the body, with an emphatic, slightly unbalanced liquorice note. I’m a little puzzled by the best before (OK, fine, the “NOT AS AWESOME AFTER” – seriously, that’s what the bottle says) date of 2016, since it would seem to me that this should cellar and age, for an extended period, fairly well. And seriously – why does the word “premium” on the label seem to, without fail, lead to abuse? Here’s an example of a beer that could probably carry off a “premium” designation. “Most premium”? Hmm… maybe. I don’t think it’s that, but some might. “Most most premium”? Nah. (14/20)

In my experience, bourbon barrel-aged stouts can often be a bit much. So can coffee and chocolate stouts. When a brewery decides to do both (as an Imperial!), well, it’s almost always more than a bit much. And this is most certainly more than a bit much. In just about every aspect, this thing is massive – yet surprisingly well-behaved. No single flavour dominates: chocolate leads the way, coffee occupies the middle ground, and bourbon dominates the woody warming finish, but neither seems unbalanced. Rich and complex, big and boozy, warm and smooth. Reminiscent of the couple of hopped whiskies I’ve had recently (and just about as expensive per ounce). (18/20)

I’m going to continue to damn this with faint praise to some extent, and say it’s very, very good – but hell if I can discern a significant difference between this and the other variants I’ve had, or if I can detect any mûre (blackberry). I want to say it’s about as good as the original (Oude Quetsche Tilquin à l’Ancienne) I’ve had a couple of times now, and slightly better than the avec Prunes de Namur I had last year. Unlike the situation with the avec Prunes de Namur, I don’t find that this one is less bright and tart than the Oude Quetsche Tilquin à l’Ancienne, but rather find it to be an intensely tart yet very well-balanced Lambic, with a lovely dry finish that invites the next sip. Highly recommended. (18/20)

Not really what it says on the label: I mean, yeah, there are hints of pineapple on the front end when freshly poured, and green tea in the finish, but for the most part it’s citrus-dominated. It’s really not one to allow to warm up either, because that’s when the burnt rubber / band-aid comes out. Has elements of both Berliner Weisse and Gose, but is really too heavy-handed for either style. Not without its merits, but nothing very exciting. (12/20)

Wow – I’ve never had to work so hard to figure out what the hell I was drinking. This vintage was split into two, a barrel-aged version, and an “unoaked” version. Guess what the “unoaked” version says on the label to distinguish it from the barrel-aged one? Nothing. Seriously, that’s how you tell the difference: if the front label doesn’t say “barrel-aged”, it’s the unoaked one. Easy, right? Now go find that spelled out somewhere. Anywhere. I’ll wait. <insert “Jeopardy” theme here> See? Tolja. Apparently I’m one of about 50 people who bought this. On the other hand, bonus points for using highly technical brewing terms on the label: I honestly can’t think of another beer that gives OE or AE, let alone both. But, why stop there? Why not go full-bore and determine TE by distillation? But I digress. This is… well…, “OK”, I guess. I mean, it’s fairly well-implemented, and there’s certainly nothing off about it. The huge ABV is quite impressively integrated. But, the aromas and flavours are muted, to the point of verging on boring. I hope the barrel-aged one addresses that, and I will actually try to find it.But this particular one, yeah, I fall back on “OK”. (13/20)

Slightly simplistic, on both the nose and the tongue, but pleasant. Molasses leads the way initially, fading slightly to a more liquorice-like note, with hints of chocolate and coffee in the finish. Y’know, I like Iceland, always have. I could see myself living in Iceland (except if I were going to go through the aggravation of uprooting and moving, it wouldn’t be to somewhere with basically the same weather as Newfoundland). That being said, what business does some Icelandic legend have, being on the label of this beer? I always figure if there’s some pretty legend on the label, it’s because they couldn’t think of anything to say about the beer. It might not be as big a warning flag as “Premium” – but, dammit, it’s close. Still and all, I like this. (14/20)